This seems to be an annual event. Between the sidewalk gardens and the flowering trees, the greengreengreen of the leaves bursting forth and the lavish colors of all those lovely homes fairly glowing in the sun, its hard to fight. Rants about high taxes and low test scores, sidewalk litter and foreclosed homes-- all fade in the face of an afternoon like this one.
Today, children of all races and creeds came together at Peace Park and laughter and music filled the air.
No, really.
That all happened.
We were there to see it.
Jack and Ivy and I stopped by the park on our way to the library and we joined an assortment of children already climbing and sliding and playing up and down the hill. There was the little brunette in the hippie skirt with the ever-so-patient long-haired father, waiting at her side as she investigated a puddle. There was the striking black woman, impeccable and gorgeous and rather unbelievable in her leopard print open-backed tunic, leggings, and stiletto yellow heels, attentively watching her three equally beautiful tiny ones run. There were the orthodox Jewish boys in full regalia, dark skinned and dark eyed, their father's voice rich with a vague accent. A heavyset young mom impersonated an alligator with surprising vivacity and chased a group of children, only one of who could have possibly been her own. A patient black grandfather kept up with a toddler boy on a big wheel thanks to a rope tied to the back of the little bike. Two teenage girls pushed their siblings in the tire swing and laughed as much as the little ones. The children, color-blind as always, joined and left each other's games with the delicious fluidity of youth. The adults (dazzled by the sun?) smiled in passing, chatted softly, looked out for one another's children.
On two benches to the side of the playground, just at the crest of the hill where the evening light meets the grass, a mixed group of teenagers gathered. A black boy picked up a guitar and played and the other kids laughed and sang and flirted and not one of them littered at all.
As we walked toward our little library where all of the staff know my children by name, I listened to all the music of the evening on Coventry. Cars rushing, stopping; people gathering, walking, waiting; strangers and neighbors sharing sidewalks; birds greeting the coming rain.
This is why we live in Cleveland Heights.
This is why we live in Cleveland Heights.
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